Sharp is the Knife
by WeatherWatch
Summary: The knife is sharp, the divide cleanly cut, and the muggle and magical borders are unmistakably defined. Hermione executes some poor judgement regarding love.


**So I had a very strange and unexpected craving for a Piers fic – absolutely out of the blue – and this is what came of it. Hermione is understandably somewhat out of character – unless I missed something important in the books! Also, I think I wanted to make a point that people can change. Unkind children can become nice people!**

**Summary: **Monday through Thursday Hermione sees her boyfriend Ron in the evening, sometimes visiting the Burrow and her extended magical family, and is happy. Friday through Sunday she spends time with her boyfriend Piers, a muggle, and his friends and is happy. But you know what they say about the calm before the storm.

**Disclaimer: I do not gain, I do not own, and I have no affiliations. **

"**sharp is the knife"  
><strong>your grace is wasted in your face  
>your boldness stands alone among the wreck<br>_- Little Lion Man, Mumford & Sons –_

||1||

There's this one boy that Hermione keeps running into.

He's that person you _always_ see – the one who does their groceries every Thursday evening at the same place you shop; who catches your bus to work in the morning; who buys the daily paper from the same news agent that you do. It's almost as if they're a friend, but you don't even know their name.

He's pointy, like Draco Malfoy in their first year at Hogwarts, and probably would've been considered scrawny and rat-like as a child, but is hailed as sharp and aristocratic as a man. And while he's not rippling with muscle, he has a lean quality that suggests he has strength to pull on should he have need. Stylistically, she supposes, he's at the head of the fashion pack. His hair, a sandy blond, is combed back from his face at the sides, the top mussed artfully, and he wears grey suit pants paired with collared shirts more often than not, the top two buttons casually undone. Some days he adds a pair of braces, and girls sneak glances at him for the whole bus ride.

Hermione hasn't ever seen him laugh, and what passes for his smile is more of a quirk of his lips, but he's polite and well dressed and he hasn't got any piercings or tattoos (that she can see), and frequently these days she finds herself staring at the back of his head while the bus trundles down the streets at dusk, returning her home after a long day of classes.

The first time he talks to her, they're standing next to one another on the crowded bus. Hermione stumbles when the driver breaks roughly and the only thing that stops her from falling ungracefully to the floor is a slender arm that grabs her waist and pulls her tightly against the very body she's been admiring for weeks.

"Careful," he quips, his other hand still holding the straps designed specifically for the purpose of giving standing passengers balance. They're too high for her to reach. She blushes at his comment, stammers a 'thank you', and spends the rest of the bus ride hyper aware of his presence next to her.

Two days later, he sees her at the grocery store and smirks, tipping his head at her in acknowledgement. She grins ruefully and tries to ignore the sensation of a thousand snitches fluttering about in her stomach.

Two weeks after that, she's been caught in the rain without an umbrella wishing she could break a thousand laws of the Statute of Secrecy just so she could be home and dry. As it stands, she's huddling in the slight cover of the dodgy bus shelter as rain pours down in torrents.

The distance from undercover to bus (when it arrives) is short but no less wet than if she'd just waited in the rain. She spends the forty minute bus ride thinking about how she's going to manage the three streets from her bus stop to her flat with the least amount of drenching, but when she alights from the public transport she's surprised to find the rain prevented from assaulting her skin.

Turning around, her stranger-boy is holding an enormous black umbrella over them both. She flushes and thanks him.

He walks her to her flat that evening, and she's quite sure that her clothes are almost dry just from the sheer heat emanating from her skin at his closeness. When he's about to leave the entrance of her building, she finally asks his name.

"Piers," he tells her. "Piers Polkiss."

"Hermione," she offers in return, and his lips quirk into an actual smile.

A week after that, he's no longer a stranger weaving pathways in and out of her life.

And it's at that point when her morals fall to pieces.

The knife is sharp, the divide is cleanly cut, and the borders of each world are unmistakably defined.

||2||

It's a Friday night and Piers is standing handsomely in her doorway, waiting to see whether or not she's going to give. He's wearing black pants with a pale purple shirt under a dark grey vest and Hermione can't help herself. She gives him a coy smile and tugs him inside her flat for the first time.

He is the first man to enter into her sanctuary. Neither Harry nor Ron has had that pleasure.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, Hermione pushes the door shut and the distance between them closes until they are nothing but a tangle of limbs and hair and clothes against the cool wood. His kisses taste of fire and Hermione is strangely calm about having a man in her home.

It's not the first time they've indulged in sex, but the last two times were in Piers' share-house when his mates were all out and the change rooms at his work. She'd been stunned after the latter, hardly able to believe that she'd actually consented to going at it in a semi-public space, but this, to her, here in her flat, is more personal and important than any daring escapade.

She's lost her shirt and gotten her legs about his waist, and Piers is stumbling along the corridor looking for her bedroom. They fall onto the double bed and Hermione is making soft keening whimpers as Piers' mouth travels down her neck and between the valley of her breasts. Her hands tangle in his blond hair, holding him in place as he discards her bra and places his warm mouth over one taut nipple, teeth lightly grazing.

The layers of clothing are peeled off one by one with excruciating slowness and Hermione is practically dry humping him in an effort to relieve the tension pooling at the juncture of her thighs. She divests him of his belt and shoves the pants and boxers down vigorously with her feet, revealing Piers' proud manhood, erect and ready.

They make love in a graceless dance, touching and kissing and hissing in pleasure as nails drag against skin and teeth graze the straining muscles where shoulder meets neck until both reach the height of ecstasy and collapse, spent, among the sheets.

And as she falls asleep, cradled to Piers' chest, she has no guilt. Because at this moment in time she's as muggle as can be – she's not Hermione Granger, qualified witch; she's Hermione Granger, muggle student. She drifts into a dreamless slumber and a small contented smile lights up her peaceful face.

O

The first time she meets his friends, she's more nervous than Neville in Snape's Potions classroom. She's worried that she'll miss an important muggle reference, or let something slip, but Piers arrives and gives her a cuddle, telling her that everybody will love her and would she just calm down already.

He tugs her through the falling snow to a pub whose name she can't remember and introduces her to a table of four; three guys and a girl. The girl is a pretty little brunette with wide brown eyes not unlike Hermione's and a simple outfit of white jeans and a red shirt and she waves happily at them when they come through the door, directing the hefty blonde man on her left to go and get some drinks before offering his vacated seat to Hermione.

"Hi there, you must be Hermione. It's so lovely to finally meet you," she begins pleasantly, "I'm Juliana – Ju preferably – and that huge, rosy-cheeked lad I sent off for drinks just now is my fiancé, Ham. He's a big cuddly bear, really," she says with a wink.

Hermione can't help but smile at the petite girl's infectious energy even as the two boys opposite introduce themselves as Nick and Joshua, greeting Piers with solid handshakes and not so subtle congratulations on landing such a prize bird.

When Ham comes back there's a bit of reshuffling and more introductions (his name isn't Hamish, as Hermione had assumed, but, surprisingly enough, Dudley – the nickname arisen from an adolescent dislike of his Christian name), and by the night's climax Hermione is buzzing with alcohol, Ju is giggling uncontrollably and needs to be carried by Ham to the cab, and Nick and Josh are arguing over football. Piers takes her back to his place, and the trip is spent trying to stop the drunken wolf-whistles and general cat-calling of Nick and Josh who are, Hermione discovers, his usually invisible house-mates.

The group click immediately, and soon Hermione's lack of availability on a weeknight (when she's in the Wizarding World with Ron and Harry) becomes the running joke of the set. Ju is particularly unhappy with the frequency of her "work conferences", but she's innovative and manages to organise everything perfectly of a weekend, so the two become fast friends and Hermione is even involved in the organisation of the wedding, though she can't be squeezed into the bridal party (despite Ju's best attempts).

It's just like herself and Ginny, Hermione can't help but think; two girls among a pile of boys.

It's funny how her worlds seem to run in a parallel.

||3||

"Come back to bed, 'Mione," Ron pleads in the half-hearted voice of one who think it's far too early for anyone to even consider climbing out of bed. In a way, he's right – it's five twenty-two on a Monday morning.

"Shh," she hushes him, collecting her jeans and shrugging her jumper over her head. "I'll see you tomorrow for the Gala?"

"Mmm," Ron agrees, an arm flung over his eyes. She kneels on the bed to give him a quick peck and squeals when he tries to tug her back down.

"Brute," she scolds fondly and slaps his hands away.

By the time she leaves, Ron is sleeping deeply once more.

She feels guilty, sometimes, because she really does love Ron (dear, sweet, rash Ron!); it's just that she loves somebody else as well.

There are two worlds now – two Hermione's – and two separate lives she can envisage without either encroaching on the other.

Monday blurs into Tuesday, and she meets Ron as he clocks off work in the Ministry atrium, resplendent in a one-shouldered, floor length black gown. Blaise Zabini, a former schoolmate and notorious flirt, whistles from near the floo-connection and waggles an eyebrow suggestively just as Ron arrives. The red head scowls – he's never liked any of the Slytherins, and he's not about to change now – but he smiles warmly when he looks Hermione up and down.

"You look beautiful," he tells as they head to the Apparition Point.

Hogwarts is their final destination, the huge, partially rebuilt castle hosting an awards ceremony. Harry and Ginny have been invited as well, and when the gunshot sound signals their arrival on the cobbled path outside the gates Hermione is immediately set upon by a beaming Ginny. On her finger sits a classy setting of diamonds and emerald on a platinum ring.

"You're engaged!" Hermione squeals and hugs her friend before turning on Harry and slapping his arm. "And you! I can't believe you didn't tell me you were proposing!"

He grins. "A man has to have some secrets!"

From then on, the evening is full of happiness and fun, and Harry is so pleased with himself – and Ginny's answer – that he doesn't worry about giving his speech at all. Hermione ends up at Grimmauld Place with Ron, and there's such an overtone of joy in the household over the engagement that the four of them celebrate late into the next morning with Firewhiskey and Butterbeer and laughter.

They thank Merlin for Sober-Up the next day, but Hermione is still late to her morning lecture.

||4||

The day that Ju and Ham are to get married is blustery, but the sun is shining and that's all you can hope for with the temperamental English weather, so Hermione packs a cardigan into her bag and kisses Piers goodbye because he's a member of the wedding party – Best Man, in fact – and though Hermione and Ju are close, the plans had already been finalised by the time they met so she'll be sitting at what Piers jokingly calls 'the misfit table' at the reception, and in Ham's side of the church (to boost his numbers, because Ju's side is almost overflowing).

Her hair is a mission, just like in fourth year, but she manages to make is sleek enough for a stylish up-do and dons a floral, floor-length silk dress and gold heels that aren't too high and is picked up by Nick and Josh and their plus ones (Josh's little sister Annabelle, whom Hermione has met twice and been slightly intimidated by both times, and Nick's girlfriend, a sweet Swedish girl with partial deafness who has him wrapped around her little finger).

The church is lovely, the decorations beautiful and classy – everything a wedding should be – and Hermione sits with her new friends and gushes with the two girls over Ju and how gorgeous her dress will look in the gaily bedecked church. They're right up close, sitting just behind Ham's parents (who seem irritatingly familiar to her for some reason, looking at the back of their heads), and as predicted the wedding is ridiculously lovely.

The newlyweds ride in a white Bentley to the reception, and the guests trickle in after them, chatting to old friends and family. Piers sneaks up behind Hermione and wraps his arms around her waist, catching her champagne glass before the shock causes it to be spilt down her dress.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmurs, looking at her appreciatively. "Don't you look stunning – better not let Ju see or she'll think you're stealing the limelight on her big day."

They kiss and cuddle a bit, catching up on the little bits of news and, then, when the function is about to start, Hermione lets Piers make his way to the bridal party table and heads on over to the other misfits, dodging other guests who haven't been debriefed on the seating arrangements. It's kind of fun to watch them flit about, scanning name-tags hastily as they begin to hear the impatient 'tuts' of the older generation who have been seated for a good half-hour already in preparation.

Ju's brother is hosting, and as he starts his introductory speech someone pulls out a chair a few seats from brunette witch. She glances automatically and then freezes, her insides turning to ice as she takes in the surprised face before her, its emerald green eyes filled with confusion. It dawns on her that Ham, also known as Dudley, must go by the last name Dursley – a fact that she's never bothered to find out, seeing as they've only known each other for the better part of three weeks, and the fact that Piers RSVP'd on her behalf.

"Hermione?" Harry says incredulously, and is promptly shushed by his neighbour. He glares at the woman and, after a quiet but firm discussion with the man to Hermione's left, ends up switching seats so he can talk to her without disturbing the other guests. Hermione feels like a deer caught in headlights, while her heart is trying to climb out of her throat.

"What are you doing here?" he demands curiously, keeping his voice low. "Is that Juliana girl a friend of yours?"

"Something like that," she answers weakly, trying to plot an escape, either through words or by physically running away from one of her best friends, and feeling increasingly more claustrophobic in Harry's presence.

"That's eerie," Harry continues, obviously none the wiser to her actual reasons for attendance. "You should've said something, we could have come together."

"I didn't realise it was your Dudley," Hermione whispers, mortified at her own mistake. It's true; she'd been so adept at separating her worlds that she hadn't made the connection between Ham and Dudley Dursley – Harry's only cousin!

If she'd been the swearing type, plenty of choice expletives would be running through her head. As it is, her only thought is 'ohdearohdearohdearohdear…'

Harry make small talk all through the function and Hermione tries to answer politely and not panic, but twice she's seen Piers looking over at her and Harry with a slight frown. She excuses herself to the bathroom and almost sprints into the cubicle, doing her damndest to control her breathing before she hyperventilates.

Taking deep calming breaths, she eventually exits the cubicle and fixes her hair and make-up, but when she steps out, she is accosted by Piers and almost shrieks in fright.

He gazes at her with concern. "Alright, Hermione?"

"Yeah, fine. Why do you ask?" she fakes a grin. He looks doubtful.

"That guy who was talking to you, he's Ham's cousin," he explains slowly. "They've never gotten on and, well, I don't even know why he's here, really… He's not bothering you, is he?"

It is such a surreal conversation, Hermione thinks. Harry is her best friend, but to Piers, he's a potentially volatile competitor with a dubious past in St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

"No, not at all," she says. "He thought I was someone else."

Piers sighs almost inaudibly.

"Well, if you're sure..." His whole countenance changes then and he smirks at her, boxing her in against the corridor wall with his arms. Hermione feels relief wash over her when she realises he is dropping the subject. "I don't like being kept so far away from you," he breathes against her lips. "I'm going to have to talk to Ju about that later. What was she thinking?"

"Maybe she was thinking absence makes the heart grow fonder," Hermione offers, entwining her hands behind his neck.

"And what do you think?"

"I think she might be right." She bobs up onto tip-toes and presses her lips to his chastely, twirling her slender fingers in the downy hair at the nape of his neck. Piers runs his hand up along her silk covered side contentedly.

"We'd better get back to the reception," Hermione suggests, looking over at the door with a little trepidation.

"Do we have to?" Piers asks against her cheek, kissing her softly near the ear.

"Piers," she scolds laughingly and gently shoves him away, but his eyes are twinkling joyously, so she kisses him again before walking towards the main room.

"Tease," he calls after her, a smile on his face. She blows him a kiss before disappearing into the fray.

What greets her is Harry holding a strained conversation with his aunt while trying to congratulate Dudley without sounding rude or ignorant. Ju greets him kindly with only a hint of hesitation but, devastatingly, catches sight of Hermione as she makes her way back into the room.

"Hermione!" she calls. "Come over here and meet Dudley's parents and cousin."

"Erm," Hermione falters, trying to find a way out of the potential disaster. "I-"

But she has no choice because Ju, resplendent in her white wedding dress, charges over and drags her back to the awkward family standing near the bridal table.

"Mr and Mrs Dursley, this is our friend Hermione," she introduces her. "Hermione, these are Mr and Mrs Dursley and Harry, Dudley's cousin."

"Nice to meet you."

Hermione is trying to be casual, but then Harry says: "Oh, we know each other already." Mr Dursley twitches and looks sharply at Harry. "Hermione's a good friend of mine actually."

All the present company turned to stare at her and Hermione wishes the floor would just swallow her up like the Devil's Snare did all those years ago.

To be frank, she'd thought that the shit had hit the fan already (to allow her an Americanism) but then she feels an arm slide around her waist, sees Harry's eyes widen in shock and indignant fury, and then her world falls to pieces.

"Oi, what do you think you're doing?" the Boy Who Lived demands.

Piers holds tight to Hermione, oblivious to her internal panic, and glares at Harry. "Joining my girlfriend, what's it look like?" he responds icily.

Harry is about to retort but he bites his tongue when he realises that Hermione isn't trying to dislodge Piers' arm. In fact, if anything, she's leaning into it.

"What?" he states bewilderedly, turning to face the witch. "What the hell is going on, 'Mione?"

"Don't talk to her like that," Piers snarls.

Harry looks between them, disgust and confusion evident in his expression, before he says in a deceptively calm voice, "You'd better explain yourself to me, Hermione. Soon – or I'll be explaining things to Ron." Turning to Dudley he adds hastily, "Congratulations on the wedding, I have to go." He nods politely at Ju and then moves liked a tempest out of the room.

Ju breaks the silence.

"Excuse my French, but what the _fuck_ was that all about?"

Hermione feels weak, but manages to hold herself together enough to excuse herself, and without waiting to hear an answer she darts towards the exit.

"Harry, wait!" she screams, catching him turning into an alley. "Please, just wait – I can explain!"

She hits the corner at speed and crashes into his slight form. Latching onto his shirt, the tears she's been holding back overflow.

"It wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to-to be like this!" she weeps. "He- I- It wasn't-"

"How could you do this to Ron, Hermione," Harry interrupts. "He loves you!"

"I love him, too!" she insists. "I do!"

"You've got a funny way of showing it!"

"It wasn't supposed to happen," she cries.

"So you keep saying," Harry says coldly. "But it has, and you've betrayed Ron. Tell me, Hermione, how much does Polkiss know?"

She doesn't answer.

"You know he used to hold my arms behind my back when we were little so Dudley could hit me, right? Does he know you're a witch? Is he in on all your other boyfriends?"

She feels her heart shatter in the face of Harry's fury and icy honesty.

"He doesn't know anything," Hermione says feebly, tears coursing down her cheeks. They stand in a vastly audible silence, the kind that is deafening in its nothingness.

"Why did you do it, Hermione?" Harry's voice is softer, but it holds disappointment as well as anger now, and she can't help but feel that it is a hundred times worse. She stares at the ground as her body shakes with tears.

"I love them," she replies simply. "Both of them."

She can tell Harry doesn't understand. He and Ginny are made for each like two halves of a fairytale; he could never even consider thinking of another person the way he thinks of Ginny. Hermione tries to explain anyway.

"I live in two worlds, Harry," she says quietly. "In one, I'm Hermione Granger, Muggleborn and the brightest witch of her age, part of the Trio who brought down Voldemort. We go to parties, we open hospitals, we speak at galas; Ron understands it because he's part of it, too. I love him, I do, but he doesn't fit in my muggle world. You know how uncomfortable it makes him!

"And then I found Piers. He was everywhere, and when I was around him I felt like plain old Hermione Jean. I felt normal and happy – just as happy as I am when I'm with Ron – and it was so easy to keep the two worlds separate."

Harry looks sadly at her. "It's not fair to Ron, Hermione."

She bursts into a fresh bout of tears and Harry, angry as he is, can't fight the need to comfort her. He hugs her close and hushes her. "You can't do this to him, Hermione, you can't. Either you tell him, and end it, or I will. One of them has to go."

He stands up and disappears into nothingness with the sound of a gunshot, leaving Hermione to her thoughts and tears.

She sits alone in the dirty alley for almost an hour before hailing a cab then locking herself in her flat, crying brokenly into her pillow. Piers calls twice but she lets the machine get it, and when he knocks on her door, she doesn't answer. He tells her he'll be waiting when she's pulled herself together, but she can hear the undertone of hardness in his voice – he's looking for answers and she knows he has every right to have them granted.

||5||

Ron's face as she explains her self-inflicted train wreck is heartbreaking. Utmost betrayal, sadness, anger and despair flit across his face as she recounts her two parallel lives and Piers' roles in her muggle world, and when he walks out the door, his last words echo depressingly in her ears.

_I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't live with half of you - you've always known I'm all or nothing. _

She feels awful; alone, and as if her world has collapsed.

_Maybe one day we can be friends again, but you abused my trust, Hermione, and right now I need my space._

She's lost Ron in exactly the way she'd avoided thinking about when she'd begun her life with Piers.

She considers the blond muggle who, despite his frustration with the brunette witch, has indicated that he doesn't want to sever all connections with her – he just wants to know what's going on. She loves him as much as she loves Ron, but the youngest Weasley boy has vacated her life now and Piers is all she has left.

She knows she has to talk to him, and she's not looking forward to it.

Hiding in her flat, trying to convince herself that telling Piers about the Wizarding World is the only way she can keep him, Hermione is startled out of her thoughts by the a sharp rap on the door. She peeks through the tiny hole and sees, to her surprise, Nick's girlfriend Astrid waiting patiently in a casual outfit of jeans and a baggy sweater. She must have wheedled the flat's location out of Piers.

"Hi," Hermione greets softly as she opens the door, expecting some harsh words at the very least, but Astrid just barrels forward and wraps her up in a hug.

"How are you?" she asks, her accent still noticeable even though her English is practically perfect. "I heard what happened at the wedding."

"And you're still talking to me?" Hermione blurts, and covers her mouth embarrassedly. Astrid raises a delicate brow.

"I'm your friend," she responds. "And even if you have been a big stupid girl, I'm staying your friend. You've been wonderful to me since we met; I plan to return the favour."

Hermione feels a bit weepy to hear that admission and quickly turns the conversation to that of a hostess. "Do you want some tea or coffee, Astrid?"

The blonde smiles knowingly, but answers anyway. "Tea, please."

When they're seated comfortably in the sitting room, Astrid cuts to the chase. "So what's the deal with you and Piers? And don't even think about lying to me."

"I do-" Hermione stops herself from completing that particular sentence when she sees the look on Astrid's face. Her own cheeks heat up, and she stares down at her steaming cup of tea before saying, "I tried to do something impossible, but mostly I just employed exceedingly bad judgement."

"By which you mean…?"

"There were two boys and I couldn't choose between them, so I thought I could have both," she admits quietly, but Astrid has a quality hearing aid and she picks it up regardless.

"Oh, Hermione," she sighs with a slight shake of her head, her voice laced with pity. "You should have known that would never work.

Hermione clutches her tea tightly. "I thought, under the circumstances, I really thought it could work, but now I've lost both of them."

"Love has an astounding effect on people," Astrid reminds her very philosophically. "You might be surprised. You just need to tell the truth. It sets you free."

Hermione half laughs at the religious reference. "But the truth's also very, very complicated and might cause more problems," she explains sadly.

"That's a risk you have to take."

They sit in silence for a little as Astrid's comment hovers in the air around them, sinking into Hermione's mind. Eventually, Hermione breaks the quiet.

"I hate fighting."

"So do I," Astrid sighs. "But you have to weather it sometimes. I know I do." Then she cocks her head thoughtfully. "Of course, it's probably easier for me. I just turn down the sound on my ear-piece so I can't hear Nick whine and then we have fantastic make-up sex."

Hermione actually laughs this time, and Astrid pauses, pleased with her success. "Can you wait one second?" she asks, and disappears into the hallway. The front door opens and shuts and after a moment of waiting Hermione is about to call out Astrid's name when she glances up and sees Piers, his white, collared shirt tucked into a pair of skinny black jeans.

Hermione wants to hug him, and he obviously knows her too well because he stops her short and says very seriously, "Not until I have some answers, Hermione."

She looks down at the floor in shame.

And when he comes to sit down, it's further away than they've ever been, and not just in the physical sense.

"First of all," Piers says quietly, "who is Ron?"

Hermione impersonates a fish for several seconds, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to think of a way to say it that isn't awful, before she decides to start at the beginning, on the advice of the late Professor Dumbledore which has just risen in her subconscious.

"Ron," she says slowly, "is part of a very long story. And if I'm to give you honest answers I have to go right back, back to the very beginning, and you must promise me, Piers, promise that you won't scoff and leave because I swear that it's the absolute truth." She swallows thickly. "It might seem fantastical and ridiculous, but it is the honest-to-goodness truth. I swear on my life."

Somewhat stonily, Piers agrees, and her tale begins:

"You might remember when you were eleven, that Dudley's cousin Harry stopped being around during term. It was put out that he was attending St Brutus' – a centre for juvenile delinquents – but that was a lie. Harry attended the same school that I did, a boarding school in Scotland for gifted students. It was called Hogwarts."

Piers interrupts: "I've never hea-"

Hermione cuts off his denial. "Very few people have heard of it, because its legacy is one that applies to only a little over thirty thousand people in the whole population of the United Kingdom. You'd have no chance of even finding it," she tells Piers softly. "Because it's the world's best kept secret."

"So, what, you're a secret agent?" he says sceptically.

Hermione laughs humourlessly. "No, not at all… I'm a witch."

His brows furrow in immediate incomprehension and then anger.

"You know, you could've at least have made an effort, Hermione, that's bullsh-" he starts to say contemptuously, but Hermione has anticipated just that reaction and has already walked over to the secretaire to slide out one of the drawers. Her wand is withdrawn and she fingers its familiar shape fondly before pointing it at the coffee table.

There are three seconds of pure silence where Piers can only stare at the space, not so long ago occupied by a wooden coffee table, where a greyhound has suddenly appeared.

"What the fuck!" he cries in shock, scrambling to get away; the unnaturalness in seeing a table turn into a dog disturbing him quite thoroughly.

Perhaps she should have chosen something smaller. She reverses the transfiguration.

Piers looks terrified and she takes the opportunity to push her point.

"I'm a witch," she insists. "I found out when I was eleven that there's a whole other world out there that exists parallel to ours where almost anything is possible! I could do magic, men and women played a sport on flying broomsticks, and my teacher could turn herself into a cat."

He's still looking at her like she's grown another head, and Hermione can't figure out what she can say that will make it any better. It breaks her heart into even more shattered pieces when she sees the fear and disbelief in his eyes. So instead of talking she bursts into tears. Full blown, heart-wrenching sobs – because she can't lose him too. Not after losing Ron by her own stupid arrogance.

She crumples to the flor so completely and so pathetically that Piers, as disconcerted as he is with his newfound knowledge, is compelled to comfort her and finds himself beside her, wrapping his arms about her slender form as she shakes, her tears falling uncontrollably.

So he engulfs her in the hug and murmurs soothing noises in her ear, battling down his own insecurities in the face of this broken simulacrum of the girl he loved (loves? He's not sure how to think just yet).

When she finally quiets, he's leaning back against the couch, her body between his outstretched legs and her face buried in his chest as his arms loop around her, holding her close and keeping her warm.

"Tell me, Hermione. I'm fucking petrified right now but maybe it'll help if you explain it to me," he says softly and she hurriedly wipes at her eyes, takes a shuddering breath, nods, and relaunches into her story.

She explains how amazing it was to have Professor McGonagall turn up on the eve of her eleventh birthday and how the professor transformed into a cat to convince her parents; she speaks of Diagon Alley and of dragons and wands and magic and she knows that something is reaching past Piers distrust, just like it did with her parents.

When she finds herself at Harry's story, she pauses.Her life has been one huge, dangerous adventure because of her friendship with Harry, and the blond already dislikes the Boy-Hero so she carefully distances the two versions – muggle and magical – being sure not to mention the summer, either.

Instead she recounts tales of her Harry Potter; Harry, whose parents were murdered by an insane man; who defied death every year he spent at school; the Harry that saved the world.

And as all her schoolmates know, with Harry comes Ron. She introduces him to the tale – loveable, idiotic Ron – and tells Piers about her life at school.

To his credit, Piers doesn't interrupt. He just listens, his body tensing as Hermione recounts her near-death experiences, and even when he finds out that Sirius Black, the notorious mass murderer, is Harry's godfather and nothing like the man he framed as being, he keeps his silence. He hears about Horcruxes and wars and the evil men and women who this tiny slip of a girl fought against to protect people like him and Dudley and all the people he knows. He can't help but feel a little humbled in her presence.

She cries at every death as she begins the tale of the war, and Piers has a sliver of understanding as he remembers the tragedies of those years through muggle eyes – the natural disasters, the bridge collapses and all manner of inexplicable murders that were brought up in the media storm.

And then the story ends. Hermione, exhausted and teary, finishes by telling him of Ron's departure from her life, and the collapse of her carefully constructed parallel worlds.

And, looking up at him with an almost un-mendable broken heart, she says: "That's my life."

He's plainly overwhelmed, and he tells her so bluntly. But when he stares her right in the eyes, hands on either side of her face, and says, "I may not understand a lot of it, but I'll do my best to learn," Hermione weeps gratefully and clutches him close, murmuring apologies into his cotton shirt now damp with her tears.

||6||

The first time she sees Ginny after her messy separation from Ron is in the dressing rooms of Gladrags, the more upmarket clothing store in Diagon Alley.

Ginny slaps her once, quite hard, and then starts to cry. Almost immediately after this, the red-head pulls the curly-haired brunette into her arms and hugs the living daylights out of her while haranguing her with both positive and negative comments.

Hermione accepts the tirade in silence, because she knows that she's destroyed every chance for a happily ever after with Ron, and the youngest Weasley boy didn't deserve to be played the way he was, even if she didn't have any real intention of hurting him.

When they part, nearly three quarters of an hour later, Hermione is beyond grateful to find that she still has a friend in the flame-haired girl.

Harry is still, understandably, cross with her, but they've worked things out between them well enough that his face doesn't cloud over every time she sees him, and the one time he met Piers after the wedding debacle he maintained a civil, if cool, demeanour.

Of course, the same could be said of Piers. Clearly there is no love lost between the two men.

Ham – Dudley – and Ju take a little longer to accept her into their good graces (after all, she almost ruined their wedding reception and broke their best friend's heart).

In the end, it's Dudley who forgives her first. Harry's cousin feeling that he should warn his new wife about his family's '_little problem_' – the fact that they could produce a witch or wizard – and, having made the connection as to why Harry and Hermione know each other, Dudley asks her to come and help with the explanation.

There are a few little spells, ruler to flower and things like that, but no major transfigurations – she's learned from Piers' reaction that it's best to start small – and when they're done, Ju almost tackles her, welcoming her back with a speech something along the lines of 'about time you were brought back into the fold, I missed you and your crazy hair and enormous brain'. Hermione hugs her back, and when Dudley joins in with a girl cry of 'group hug!' the three of them can hardly breathe for laughing.

||7||

It takes almost two years for things to settle to the point where Hermione can visit with Harry and Ron comfortably, but in two years many things have changed.

Hermione is happy with her _one_ boyfriend: Piers Polkiss, muggle; Harry and Ginny are married, with a son on the way; Ham and Ju have twin daughters; Ron is seeing a girl called Eva, who graduated from Beauxbatons a year after the war against Voldemort ended; and the divide, once so clearly defined to the bushy-haired brunette, is no longer so startling. Her muggle friends, most of them anyway, are aware of her _additional_ _talents_ and her worlds are running together in a way that makes her proud to be who she is, on either side of the border.

Hermione Granger, witch and Oxford graduate.

**End.**

**Oh, man. Can you tell I was struggling at the end, there? I hope not.**

**Please, Read and Review Responsibly, make an author's day.**


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